Breaching the Fabric Barrier

A crumpled gray sock sat jammed beneath the sofa rail like a fallen boulder. It blocked the narrow trench to the back baseboard. I did not crawl around the heavy cotton lump. I dug my hooves deep into the carpet weave, lowered my horns, and drove my forehead right into the dense knot. The fabric resisted with a dull, muffled drag, then rolled back two inches. Trapped underneath lay a tiny brass safety pin, snapped shut and glinting like an iron fang. I hooked it onto my knuckles with a blunt tug. The path is breached. Fresh metal claimed.